The Wedding Band (22 page)

He blocked her. “He doesn't want to see you.”

“You just said he misses me.”

“That doesn't mean he wants to see you.” He crossed his arms, ignoring the canine hysteria behind him. “He's not dumb enough to let you fool him twice.”

She leveled a look. “Enough already. I'm not throwing myself at you, Kota. I get that you don't want anything to do with me. But Tri”—­her voice caught—­“I never got to say good-­bye to him.”

“You don't deserve—­”

From behind him, a thud, then a yip. The crazy dog had flung himself over the door and onto the pavement.

Now he raced around the car and dove at Christy's leg. She scooped him up to chin level, and he went wild with his tongue as she laughed and cried all at once.

Only a hard-­hearted bastard would break up their love-­in.

“Quit it,” he said, swiping Tri from her hands. “Quit teasing him.”

Her empty arms fell. For a long moment she looked into his face, hers etched with misery. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry I hurt you so badly that you'd hurt Tri to punish me.”

Is that what he was doing?

He stuck the squirming dog under his arm. “He doesn't know you like I do. I'm protecting him.”

“No, you're waving him under my nose.” Her shoulders drooped. “I know what I lost, Kota. I can't think of anything else. I can't sleep. All I can do is eat, and you see where that's gotten me.” She waved a hand at herself.

He used the excuse to eyeball her body, as amazing as ever. He swallowed the saliva that pooled on his tongue. “You look okay,” he said gruffly. “None the worse for wear.”

She gave a weak little laugh. “This dress hides the second ass I've grown.”

More saliva. “It's nice. The dress, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Nice dress.”

She almost smiled. Then she stiffened her shoulders. “Why are you really here, Kota?”

Why
was
he here, torturing himself, torturing Tri, who wriggled like a worm under his arm?

He grabbed the laptop and gave it to her.

“Oh.” Like it was the last thing she expected. “Okay. Thanks.” Tucking it under her arm, she backed up toward the house, and Tri, the traitor, squirmed even harder.

“Wait,” he blurted, and she paused, sadness and uncertainty written on her face. “Just . . . wait.”

He took a deep breath. Then, closing the space between them, he held out Tri. She took him with her free arm, and he snuggled against her breast. Lucky bastard.

Making himself step back, he said sternly, “He'll overeat if you let him. So don't, because if he gets fat, he won't be able to get around.”

Her eyes had gone wide. Her lips parted, and trembled.

“He's lazy,” he added harshly. “He'll want you to carry him everyplace. Don't, because—­”

“He'll get fat.” A tear slid down one pale cheek. “I won't let him. I'll take care of him.”

“You better.” His voice was rough with emotion. He channeled it into a growl. “Or I'll be back for him.”

She buried her nose in Tri's neck. “I promise I'll never let anything hurt him.”

He believed her, but it didn't make leaving either of them any easier. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. If he didn't walk away now, he'd bawl like a toddler.

Then she lifted her gaze, blinking back the tears swimming in her warm caramel eyes. His throat closed up tight.

And it was a damn good thing, or he'd have spit out something stupid.

Instead, he whipped open the Porsche's door and threw himself into the seat, refusing to watch her in the rearview as he burned rubber down the road.

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Y
OU LEFT
T
RI
with her?” Em thunked her forehead with the heel of her hand.

“So?” Kota glared at her in the bathroom mirror.

“So it's an excuse for you to see her again.”

“It's not about me. He was pining for her.”

“
Pining
?”

He gave her a look meant to say her vocabulary was wanting. “It means he was missing her.”

“I know what it means. And you're full of shit.
You're
the one pining.”

He didn't deny it. Instead, he pasted his toothbrush and got busy with it.

She put a fist on her hip. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” he mumbled through the foam. Nothing except a hard-­on that hadn't quit until midnight, when he'd finally taken it in hand.

“Did she at least say she was sorry?”

“Yeah.” He rinsed. “She seemed like she meant it.”

“Did you forgive her?”

“Hell no!” And he wouldn't. Not ever.

“But you left Tri with her.”

He lowered his brow. “I told you he was pining. The little shit wouldn't eat.”

She crossed her arms. “Did you send his food? His specially formulated, hundred-­dollar-­a-­pound food?”

He scrubbed his face with a towel. “It's in the car. I'll drop it off on the way to the studio.”

Silence. He lowered the towel.

She eyed him in the mirror. “You're pathetic.”

He didn't deny that either.

T
HE HAMMERING ON
Chris's door had a familiar ring to it.

Heart in her throat, she opened up, afraid he'd changed his mind about Tri, ready to resist if he had.

Tri scrambled out onto the stoop, wiggling and wagging. Kota scooped him up. “Ready to come home with me, buddy?”

Tri must have understood him, because if he'd been a baby, he would've held out his arms to Chris. As it was, he waved his paw at her frantically.

She grabbed him and he settled in, happy to gaze lovingly at Kota from the crook of her arm.

Angling her body to keep him out of Kota's reach, she said, “He ate. I walked him. He slept with me.” She swallowed. “Please let him stay.”

Blue eyes studied her. “I want visitation.”

“Okay.” She'd agree to anything. Cuddled up with Tri, she'd had her first good night's rest in two weeks.

Kota bent down and hefted a burlap sack. “His special food.”

She couldn't help smiling. “Made from common natural ingredients blended together in their most effective proportions?”

His lips twitched. “Something like that. Where do you want it?”

“On the counter.”

He strode into the kitchen and immediately spotted the Viking. He eyed it critically. “Looks like it's never been used.”

“I told you I'm useless in the kitchen.”

“Lot of money for a prop.”

“I thought I might be a person who cooks.” She shrugged. “I'm not.”

He studied her. “What kind of person are you?”

“I'm trying to figure that out.” But it wasn't somewhere she wanted to go with him. The problem was, he was too easy to talk to. Even now, with an unbridgeable chasm between them, she wanted so much more.

Shifting Tri to her other arm, she placed a hand on the doorknob, body language for
bye now
.

In typical Kota fashion, he ignored it, leaning a hip against the counter. “What about your roommate? She's okay with Tri? 'Cause if she's not—­”

“She's fine,” Chris cut in. Then honesty won out. “Actually, Ray's not much of a dog person. But it's my house. If one of them has to go, it won't be Tri.”

He nodded like he believed her, which was progress. Then he glanced at the stove again. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“I can boil water. And heat up a frozen pizza.”

He snorted. “That's like letting a Lamborghini rust out because you can't drive a stick.” He walked to the stove. Opened the oven door. Closed it. Lifted the teapot to look under it like he was the health inspector.

She set her teeth. “If it offends you so much, you're welcome to buy it.”

“Got my own.” He fiddled with the knobs.

“Then if there's nothing else . . .”

He moseyed away from the stove at last, only to take a turn around the rest of the kitchen, poking in her cupboards, peering into the fridge.

Objecting would only egg him on, so she held her tongue as long as she could. But when he moved into the living room, she marched after him.

“If you're looking for the bathroom,” she said between her teeth, “it's through there.”

“I'll get to it eventually.” He pressed the couch cushions, inspected the TV.

When he started pawing through her magazines, she blew her stack.

“Quit handling my stuff!” She set Tri on the couch and used both hands to wrest the magazines out of his. “What's your problem?”

The look he gave her said
she
had the problem. “I'm making sure it's safe to leave my dog here.”

“By fingering my magazines? What next, my underwear?”

Yikes, where had that come from? Her face heated up like a frying pan.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, straight-­faced, “I want to see your bedroom next.”

“Like hell.”

Ignoring her, he headed for the stairs. She charged after him, spiraling up the steps on his heels.

He paused at the second floor and surveyed the mess.

“That's Ray's room,” she said, defensive, “not that it's any of your business.”

He kept climbing. “Tri can't handle these stairs,” he said, like it was the kiss of death.

“Yes, he can. He's right behind me.” Hopping and bopping along, one step at a time.

Kota stepped into her room, making it feel as small as a dollhouse. Hands on his hips, he turned a slow circle. “At least it's clean.”

Her back went up even higher. “You expected a pigpen?”

“I didn't know what to expect.” He seemed to say it to himself. Walking into the bathroom, he flicked on the light.

Yesterday's panties hung out of the hamper. She muscled past him and flicked them inside. Then she spun to give him a piece of her mind.

And the heat in his eyes cut off her rant before it began.

He turned abruptly and almost tripped over Tri. Scooping him up, he moved back into the bedroom, checking the view out the windows, sticking his head in the closet. He took his sweet time, while she silently counted to a hundred.

Stopping at last by the unmade bed, he turned to her. The morning light streaming in unfairly cast him in bronze. His cheekbones seemed sharper, his lips fuller. And his steady, assessing gaze reminded her that yoga pants didn't flatter her ass.

She crossed her arms. She did that a lot around him. Protecting herself. Standing her ground. “Well?”

“He can't get down those stairs.”

She dropped her arms. “For God's sake, quit pretending this is about Tri. You're here to find fault. The stove's too clean, the bathroom's too messy. The stairs are too steep.”

“You're paranoid.”

“You're full of shit.”

His brow lowered. “Don't cuss at me.”

“I'll cuss if I want to.” The infuriating man. “You're full of shit, and you're being an asshole.”

He took a threatening step, shrinking the room. “You're nobody to talk. You're a sneak and a liar. Some ­people might call you a whore.”

She drew herself up, trembling in every cell. “I'll own the first two, but you know I'm no whore. You
know
it.”

“Do I?” He advanced. “You had sex with me while you were grubbing around for a story.”

“First of all, I didn't go to the island for the story. And if you'll recall, I tried
not
to have sex with you. You seduced me, with all your . . . your
muscles
.”

“If
you'll
recall, it wasn't my muscles that did it for you. You”—­his pointing finger damned her eternally—­“got off on watching my brother have sex.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Embarrassment, and anger too. “You didn't complain at the time.”

He sneered. “A stallion doesn't complain when the mare's in heat.”

Her blood pressure hit a record high. Her voice dropped to a homicidal low. “You are too disgusting for words.” She pointed at the stairs. “Out.”

“No.” He crowded her, looming. “I'm not done with you yet.”

She shoved her face up at his. “So this was a ploy. A lie. You used Tri to worm your way into my house. You're no better than I am.”

“Don't you dare,” he growled. “Don't you dare compare this to what you did.”

“At least I had a good reason. You're just looking for revenge, you big bully. You want to scare me. Well, you don't.” She drilled a finger into his chest. “You wouldn't hurt me even if I pulled out a gun and shot you.”

“Don't be so sure.” His face was inches from hers, his breathing hot and heavy. “I've had about enough of you.”

“Good, then go.” She shoved his shoulder, but he was Mount Rushmore.

“I'll go when I'm good and ready.”

“Then I'll go. Give him to me.”

Kota pivoted so she couldn't reach Tri.

“Quit holding him hostage,” she shouted. “Take your problem out on me. I'm the one you're mad at.”

“Mad?” His face darkened. “You think I'm
mad
at you? Mad doesn't begin to cover it, sweetheart. You played me. You fucked me. You lied about everything.”

“No, I didn't! I mean, yes, I lied about why I was at the wedding. But I never lied about my feelings. I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn't. Because I'm an idiot, like every other woman on the planet. Because I fell . . .” She caught herself. Caught her breath.

“What?” He grabbed her arm. “Finish, goddamn it.”

She shook her head. He shook her arm.

She tried to pull away. Tears welled and spilled over. “Let me go,” she sobbed out.

He tossed Tri on the bed and hauled her in, locking her to his chest. “Say it, goddamn you.”

She shoved at Mount Rushmore. He gave not an inch. Heat poured off him like a furnace. His eyes, so intense, burned her skin.

“Don't lie to me again,” he gritted through his teeth. “For once, tell me the goddamn truth.”

“I fell in love with you, all right? Is that true enough for you?”

“I don't know. Is it?” He searched her face like he didn't trust either of them to know the truth from a lie.

“Yes, you son of a bitch. Are you happy now? I fell in love with you, and I lost everything. My job. My reputation. My future.” She laughed, half hysterical. “Here, take my pride. There wasn't much left of it anyway.”

“I don't want your pride,” he growled. “I want this.”

H
E CLO
SED THE
last inch, crushing her lips, thrusting his tongue. Taking her mouth the way he'd once taken her body.

And she took him right back, sucking him, scoring his shoulders, her fever burning as hot as his own.

Shoving his hands down her pants, he grabbed her ass, boosting her so she locked her legs around him. She broke the kiss to peel off her shirt, taking her tits in her hands, offering them up, and he took them, sucking the salty sweat from her skin.

This wasn't the plan, not even close, but he was out of control, crazed by her scent, scorched in her heat, and he only cared about getting inside her.

She clawed his shirt up, raking his back. “Arms,” she panted, and he tossed her on the bed, ripping his shirt over his head, letting her see his muscles, his sweat.

She ate him up with her eyes. “Kota,” she breathed, cupping her breast with one hand. She pushed the other hand down her pants, and he lost his mind.

He tore open his jeans and shoved them past his knees, caught her ankles and dragged her ass to the edge of the bed.

“Off,” he uttered, and yanked her pants down. Her hand was in her pink panties; he snapped them like a thread. Then he flipped her over, pulled her up on her knees, and drove into her, every last inch, as she closed around him like a hot, slippery fist.

Clenching her hips, he pumped her, her beautiful ass filling his gaze, filling his mind. She met every thrust, as crazed as he was, matching his speed, faster, and harder.

He wouldn't last long. He reached around and covered her fingers with his, driving her higher, making her pant.

Then she threw back her head, and his sanity snapped.

Swearing through his teeth, he emptied every ounce of himself into her, until his cock ran dry and his legs gave out, and he collapsed on top of her in a slippery, sweaty, goddamn glorious, totally fucked-­up mess.